


Shells

by B_graded_fanfiction



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, OTP Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-09-20 19:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17029062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_graded_fanfiction/pseuds/B_graded_fanfiction
Summary: When bodies start turning up missing certain innards, it isn't long before the Winchesters find themselves on a drive to the midwest.





	1. Super Ebola

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my wonderful Beta CMG_Literary Consultant](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+wonderful+Beta+CMG_Literary+Consultant).



> Excited for the community's reaction to my first work. Below is chapter one of a set. I hope that at the very least, you get some enjoyment out of this fun creation.

Chapter 1: Super Ebola  
No matter how many times he went through it, it didn’t seem to make any sense. The lightning storms could be demonic omens, but no sulfur. Which meant no demons. It was all weighing on him pretty heavy. With a short sigh, the hunter decided to return to his bed; if you could even call it that. He didn’t think he’d get any sleep, but he also thought maybe it was worth a shot. As he began to drift off, Dean Winchester rose unsteadily from a shitty mattress. He was worried, plagued by a certain something. He couldn’t tell yet, but he knew something wasn’t right. He stared at the makeshift murder board him and his brother Sam had put together. Pieces of red string held down by green, blue and yellow push pins pretty much depicted the knotted mess that was Dean’s head. He really had no clue what this was. He tilled over facts as he sat down at the end of his brother’s bed. Sam, still sleeping, looked peaceful. He wasn’t in the same place Dean was right now. He couldn’t help this.   
Thirteen murders. All bleeding out from their eyes, mouth, nose and ears, like super Ebola or something. The strangest part was that all of the victim’s bones had been removed. What kind of creature would do this and why?  
He began to drift off, mostly from crippling exhaustion. He felt a sense of relief knowing that in the morning, he would pray to the angel Castiel. Cas would help, he thought to himself. When Dean called, he was there. Always. A reassuring smile crept over his face thinking about the way the angel crinkled his nose when he was frustrated. Or how he’d squint his eyes and raise his chin up slightly when he was deep in thought. Yes, in the morning he’d call for Cas. And Cas, like always, would be there.


	2. Waking Up's A Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the person who took a chance and decided to bookmark this, this one's for you, buddy.

Dean woke up covered in sweat.  _ Well at least I fell asleep _ , he thought to himself. Swinging his legs over the edge of another crappy bed, he let his bare feet hit the cold floor. Placing his head between his hands, he felt as if he’d gone on two different benders last night. He chuckled to himself under his breath, “has sleep ever been so tiring?”

*********

Sam opened his eyes wide hearing the shower start in another room. He figured it was time he got dressed.  
“Dean!”  Sam shouted with impatience. “Are you done yet?”  
“Hold on, Sammy,” Dean replied with a light-hearted tone.  
“Come on Barbie. We need to get a move on.”  
Dean waltzed out off the bathroom wearing an antagonizing smirk alongside a pair of old jeans, combat boots, an olive V-neck and a thin flannel. His necklace taking up the same place it always did. 

“You know you might not be such a grump if you got laid more.”  
Sam rolled his eyes in irritation. 

Dean had a such a talent for pretending his emotions weren’t real. Every thought was strategically tucked away, safely tied up in a little bow. But today was different for him. He couldn’t push these thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d found nothing, no real leads, but that’s all he could seem to focus on. He felt so useless knowing that the only _ real  _ next step to take, would be calling for Cas. 

*********

“No, I told you that I wanted you training today.”  
“But Cas we’re all tir-“  
“Hold on, Naomi.”  
Cas pressed the palm of his hand to his temple. He was filled from head to toe with a burning tingling sensation. He knew the feeling well. It’s kind of like when your foot falls asleep. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t exactly pleasurable.   
“I’m needed,” he said.   
“Cas, you can’t just leave. Not now.”  
With a whoosh he was gone. Naomi was flooded with anger. She knew exactly where he’d gone off to. He was with _the Winchesters_. She hated them, their faces, and their insignificant lives. She hated everything about them. Probably not for the reasons she thought that she did. They always came first. _Rain or snow, stormy or clear skies,_ _he will always choose them._ She thought to herself. She was devoted to her cause and for months, she didn’t question him. It had all become too much. It became clear to her that he could no longer think straight. _They need a leader. I could be that leader. I will be loyal. A far better leader than their precious Castiel._ A deviant smile on her face, she knew what had to be done. Castiel had to die. 


	3. You Called?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but the holidays happened. Hope everyone made it through without too much trauma.

There was the faint noise of rustling papers. He was standing behind Sam and Dean for a few moments. Only long enough for Dean to turn around and see that Cas couldn’t have been more than 8 inches away from him. It was odd. He could have sworn he felt goosebumps.   
“Cas,” Dean breathed. “Personal space.”  
“Oh...right.”  
His words were close to inaudible. There was a hurt in his eyes. 

Sam jumped right in. “Dean called you for this case we could really use your help on.”  
“I’m listening.”  
“So get this, it all started back in like, 1819. Since then, every 10 or 11 years or so, 23 bodies throughout 3 weeks turn up completely dried out of any blood. The coroner said that he thought they bled out from all external openings. You wanna hear the really crazy part though? They had no rib cages. What ever did this must’ve removed them and taken them.”  
“That’s odd. How did you make these connections?” Cas couldn’t help himself but to inquire.  
“We didn’t. Bobby kept one of Rufus’s ‘hunch’ files and the story seemed to make sense.”  
“Uh huh… So what would be the next step?”  
“Now we talk with the victim’s next of kin,” Dean said as he pulled on his brown leather coat.   



	4. Craftsford Pizzeria: A Family Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For that one person still hanging in there with the bookmark, we applaud you, good sir. We would also like to give a brief shout out to the 48 who took the time to read this.

Dean and Sam were used to the whole process. Show up and play a role. Collect intel, crack the case, kill the monster, and knock back a cold one. However, today would be going differently. Sam was up to his ears in newspaper clippings, online articles and old police statements. 1819 is long way from 2011. Sam would be busy all day. He couldn’t go masquerading along with Dean right now. An alternate partner in crime would be required.   
Dean and Castiel walked into the pizzeria, taking a look around. The place seemed to be entirely empty.  
“We’re open.”  
The voice came from a small woman. Presumably the daughter of Dan Craftsford. He was the victim that originally brought them to the depressing state of Ohio. According to the information that Sam was able to dig up earlier, she was his only daughter. He left his business to her when he was killed. 

She came around to the front corner wiping her hands on her small apron. “Can I help you?” She was looking at them expectantly.  
Dean pulled out a fake FBI badge. “I’m special agent Hendrix and this here is detective Warner. We wanted to ask you a few questions about your father.”  
“Molly Craftsford. I already gave my statement to the police,” She said tiredly.  
“We’re just following up. You could say that we’re crossing our T’s and dotting some I’s. Could we sit and talk?”  
Dean motioned towards some chairs. Cas glanced at Dean with impatience. Dean acknowledged his look and answered it by subtly changing his tone. 

“You understand. It’s important that we continue with some minor questions. It’s the only way that we can truly get to the bottom of what happened.

Molly nodded her head and began to relay the story that she gathered about her father’s early end. She strung together the details that littered his case file with efficiency. You could tell that she’d had to do this before.  
“Was there anyone who didn’t particularly get along with your father? Or perhaps there’s someone who may be holding a grudge?”

“No… none that I can think of,” she replied, her voice trailing off. “Wait, maybe Louis.”   
“Louis?” Cas said with question in his face.    
“Yes, he and his family own the competing business across the street. It’s funny. They only moved in about a year ago, but they’ve poached just about all of our customers.”    
“You said he might have wanted to hurt you father?” Dean asked.   
“Well, maybe he didn’t want to kill my father, but he’s the only person I can think of who openly disliked him. Everyone else loved him.” Her face became cloudy with creeping sorrow. 

“So we’ve come to understand, miss,” Dean said gently. “Listen, if you see anything strange or you remember something that you think could be of use, this is our number. Don’t hesitate to call.” 

She nodded and Dean thanked her for her time. The pair of fictitious feds left with very little to go off of. The door jingled on their way out.


	5. No Promises

Sam repeatedly hit his head against his keyboard. He didn’t know where to look. He’d called Bobby already. No skeletons, no blood and not a clue of what was happening here. Once again, Sam would hit the books, but not before visiting a local college.   
“Dr. McGonel,” Sam called. He was peering into the professor’s office.  
“Yes that’s me. Is there anything I can help you with, young man?” The old man asked with a helpful smile.   
“I hope so. So I have to do a paper on a mythological creature and my friend was describing one to me, but I just can’t seem to place a name to it.”  
“Alright son, do you think that you could describe it for me?”  
“Well, we know that the creature supposedly takes the skeletons and blood from its victims. It would surface about every ten to eleven years.” Sam explained.   
“That’s a hard ask. I’m not sure that I can help you.”  
“Please, this paper is really important.” Sam begged.   
“Tell you what, I’m gonna make a few calls and you can come and check back with me tomorrow. How’s about that? Let’s just see if we can’t find you at least a little something to go off of.  
Sam’s face lit up. “That’d be awesome! I really appreciate it, sir.”

The professor chuckled. “You’re very welcome. Stay out of trouble now.”

Sam smiled and proceeded to see himself out.  _ No promises. _


	6. Splinters

Cas looked at his own goofy smile in an old mirror. He had selected an old abandoned barn to stay in. Despite the smell of decaying wood and some minor leakage in the roof, Cas didn’t mind the accommodations. It wasn’t far off from where Dean and Sam were staying. The wind whistled and he could hear some of the less sturdy parts of the structure make a creaking sound. Maybe this isn't traditionally the kind of work an angel would or should be proud of, but Cas didn’t care. He felt like he was finally able to say that he was looking forward to something. There it was, that something he had been waiting for filling  him once more from head to toe. Dean was calling for him. He let himself be consumed with this feeling for half a second. He felt someone lay a hand on his shoulder. It was the only thing that kept him from joining Sam and Dean in that very moment.

“Naomi?” Cas stammered “I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I’m actually on my way out. Can we do this another time?” 

“Actually Castiel, no. Not this time. Not again. You will be doing this now.” She was abrupt with him. Her tone resembled that of someone disciplining a young puppy.

“What is this about?” Cas said annoyance flooding his voice.

“I’m sorry. Am I  _ keeping you from something _ ? Wait, don’t answer that.” Naomi drew an archangel blade from behind her.

“This has droned on for far too long. I’m ending this right now, Castiel.” Her voice was as unwavering as her conviction. She was well versed in this level of hand to hand combat. A detail that she allowed to instill her with a sense of confidence. She was ready to take him on and this notion was only strengthened by the idea that she had the upper hand. She was not the only one in this fight with a certain silver blade. Cas slid a sharp piece of metal down his sleeve and into his hand. Despite his surprise at her challenge, Cas wouldn’t hesitate. They both took a proper fighting stance before Naomi made her initial advance. Lunging at Cas she swung her left arm forward attempting to land a blow. Her eagerness and overconfidence slightly compromised her strategy leaving her vulnerable. Cas took advantage of this early misstep to strike the left side of her rib cage which sent her hurtling through a wall.The already time-weakened boards splintered upon impact. Dust was everywhere. Cas was pleased with his simple handiwork. Taking the moment to admire his efforts instead of finishing the bitch off, however, would prove to be a misstep of his own. More quickly than expected she rebounded and was at Cas’s back. As the fight resumed she gained much ground on him, even leaving a rather significant gash on his cheek. She  _ was _ skilled indeed. Wall to wall she threw him. More shattering boards. Cobwebs left untouched for over a half of century now floating, unanchored. Cas landed a few blows of his own, but not enough to seize the advantage. Bloody and bruising he had to think fast. It came down to a choice. Sure he could stay and fight proving he was an honest fighter, or he could gather his strength and complete the call he had attempted to answer moments ago. His personal mission called to him and while he anticipated the repercussions, he knew that there wasn’t really a choice to begin with. They needed him. Dean needed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A double post? What is the meaning of this nonsense? We don't know.


	7. Momentary Peace

“Cas! What the hell happened?” Dean was visibly distraught. He pulled Cas’s gashed head into his lap.

“Sam!” Dean called. “Sammy it’s Cas. I could really use some help.” It wasn’t often that Dean would request help from anyone for anything. He’d made an exception. 

“Dean,” Cas laborded over his name. “Naomi...” Cas coughed and tripped over her name, but there was no doubt that he had said Naomi.

“I’ve seen you so much worse off. I mean, like buckets of blood worse. You’re gonna be fine. Just take a breath. Bobby has this place locked down, so you’re the only angel who can get in… You’re safe.”

Cas still felt like he’d gone all ten rounds with a block of cement, but Dean’s encouragement was certainly helping. A faint smile passed over his face.

“What happened?” Sam asked with concern in his tone. Before him, Castiel had completely passed out on Dean, who didn’t seem to mind. Even covered in blood, Cas seemed to have found some form of momentary peace. 

“It was that angel Bitch Naomi. She did this.” Dean began to feel the all to familiar sensation of rage flooding in. He choked it down with a quick and sharp breath. 

“I’ll get Bobby to help Cas to the couch,” Sam said as he walked off to find him.

“Yeah okay, uh...sorry,” Dean mumbled. 

********* 

In just two short hours Cas was awake.

“She attacked me.” If he hadn’t been there to witness it himself, Cas wouldn’t believe his own words.

“But why would she do that?” Sam’s curiosity continued to grow. 

“I can’t be certain. I had almost forgotten that I am here for a reason. How can I be of assistance?” Castiel’s eyes gazed up at the two, expectant. 

“Don’t worry about it. We uh… figured it out for now.” 

Dean was relieved to see Cas stumble to his feet. He had an open case, leads, and like fifteen other things he wanted to check out. One of those things being a hot young blonde waitress. But for some reason, he wasn’t ready to leave Cas’s side. Dean wanted to stay with him till he was positively ready to kick some ass.


	8. Disturbing Behavior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick special thanks to our one commenter. We appreciate your feedback and intend to satisfy. Since we received our first comments and have surpassed 75 views, we thought that we would maybe take ourselves a bit more seriously and actually post again. We hope that you enjoy.

The silence of rest, recovery, and deliberation was broken by the ringing of a phone. Looking around, it was already dark outside. Sam grabbed it off the table eager to see if there had been any progress on the case. It bothered him that they weren’t quite sure yet what they were dealing with.

“Hiya Sam! It’s Dr. McGonel. Sorry for such a late call, but I was just so excited and I figured you would be too. I think I may have found your creepy creature. It seems as though you’re wanting to do your project on a Borcacine. Nasty old things too.”

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“A Borcacine,” the old man repeated kindly. “A mythological beast similar to that of a Wendigo if you’re familiar with their kind. While the two are closely related, Borcacines tend to have more perplexing dietary habits.”

Sam considered this wondering if Dean had ever heard of a Borcacine. 

“Hmm… Perplexing how?” 

“You see, every legend is slightly different but the main concepts seem to be consistent. Bones are removed, blood is sucked clean, and the other tissue is abandoned as a mere shell. Some suggest that the Borcacine suffers from some form of calcium deficiency and that’s why they take the bones. Others claim that the Borcacine is only after the marrow inside as a means to fulfill some other nutritional purpose. As for the blood, it’s believed that the creature survives off its prey’s blood because it struggles to make its own. Although no one really knows how a Borcacine is created, there is a theory that the creature was once human. The old myth suggests that Borcacines are creatures created out of individuals with the darkest of endings. It is said that the bones represent the nature of greed, thievery, or some other treachery. The Borcacine collects bones and feeds off of them to fulfill its need for strength at the expense of others. The blood that the creature drinks is said to symbolize the blood it may have spilled in its previous life leaving behind only a hollowed out individual. With these… unique... nutritional requirements, I guess you could say that this is one instance in which the Wendigo and the Borcacine differ. Aside from acting as a less vicious predator, the Wendigo almost certainly prefers to use all of its prey. Another obvious difference in behavior is the time table. As you mentioned, the Borcacine seems to surface about every ten to eleven years. Truthfully I couldn’t tell you why. It’s an interesting detail that perhaps evolved out of inconsistencies in retellings over the years. This is all purely fantasy and conjecture of course.”

“Interesting…” Sam trailed off. The description matched the state of the victims and he  _ was  _ reassured at the notion of providing the predator with some form of identification. Now the question was, how do you hunt it? 

“Is there anything else that you could tell me about its general nature? You know how it is. Every little bit helps.”

“Well from what I’ve collected, it would appear as though they can take a human form. Unfortunately, my reading doesn’t seem to indicate any features that could distinguish a Borcacine from an average individual. I will say this; if you  _ are _ to track one down, the text asserts that fire is the only known way to ensure its death,” Dr. McGonel added. “I think that this is all I can offer you for now.”

It was all Sam had wanted. It was time to do his part. 

“Thank you so much, professor. Honestly, this gives me a great start. You’ve been more than helpful.”

“No problem, son. You know, it’s like I always say: what’s the point in having any knowledge if you can’t share it. Good luck with your paper. It should prove to be a most interesting topic indeed.” With that, the old man hung up the phone. Satisfied with these new developments, Sam turned to his partner.

“Well Sammy?”

“McGonel seems to think that we’re dealing with a Borcacine,” Sam answered.

“Huh. A Borcacine. I gotta say, it feels good to at least put a name to the ugly mug. What’d you find out about the freak?”

“I’ll fill you in on the way,” Sam responded. He was grabbing his coat and headed for the door. He chucked the keys at Dean.

“Woah, hold on now. Where are we headed?”

“I think we should speak with this Louis guy and try to figure out whether or not he’s eating more than just pizza these days.” Sam looked at Dean with a twinge of impatience.

“I think we should hang back a while. Let’s think about this. Why would the F.B.I. barge into a closed restaurant in the middle of the night for a few ‘follow-up concerns?’” Dean glanced over at a still resting Cas. Naomi got him pretty good this time. “We can interrogate Papa John first thing tomorrow.”


End file.
